We Will Always End Up Here
by piginapoketuesday
Summary: I wrote a thing. I sort of really doubt that End!Verse will happen, but this is a version of what I think could happen because of Dean's mark.
1. Chapter 1

I wrote a thing. I sort of really doubt that End!Verse will happen, but this is a version of what I think could happen because of Dean's mark. Nothing slash but Abaddon gets pretty touchy-feely. Warnings in tags. Second part coming soon! First Tumblr fanfic, I hope you like!

_We will always end up here._

(Part 1)

"So, Dean," she cooed, red hair draping her face in shadow. "I heard you accepted the mark of Cain. That true?"

Dean struggled vainly against the ropes that bound his wrists, ankles, waist and neck to the chair, wincing as they seared him like no earthly rope could.

"What the hell is this?" he shouted, sweating.

She smiled. "Ah, so it _is_ in you. This is what you get for whoring yourself out to Crowley." Abaddon stepped up to him and traced a red nail along the rope at his throat, the barest pressure of her finger causing it to bite into his skin. Even so, he noticed her grimace when she touched the bindings.

"I had some subordinates tie you this way. The rope is harmless to demons, but tortuous to Knights. Shame I can't drag you bound into Hell, but this way, I avoid the risk of a newborn cub clawing open my chest," she tipped her head to the side and stroked his lip, "And you look so deliciously weak."

The last comment was not effectual in making him forget the first. "Newborn cub?"

"Cain's precious little Knight. So raw. I'd bet you haven't even slit a single throat with that bone of yours."

He barred his teeth. "I've had one in mind."

Her eyes caught a devious light. "Exactly." She pulled back his sleeve and revealed the mark that had made them equals. "But we can't have that, can we, Dean? Of course, not. Even a bear will cower in the right cage."

"Is that your plan, then?" he spat, "Keep me here and run your ass back to Hell?"

The smirk on her red lips felt like a slap in the face. "Sweet boy. You've no idea what's happened. Allow me to fill you in."

She bent over him, careful to avoid the ropes, and placed a kiss below his ear. A nervous shudder steamrolled down his spine.

"Crowley's so-called 'campaign' was, shall we say, a royal disaster. My soldiers would have gutted him themselves, but … well, what queen doesn't love to get her hands dirty?" A low laugh echoed from the base of her throat into his head. "Every masochistic kink has a limit. Naturally, the very literal ripping of his crimson soul was too much."

Dean swallowed. Crowley had tortured, kidnapped, abused and tricked he and his family for years, and yet the smarmy bastard hadn't been all bad. For a salesman of Hell, he was a downright saint. And now she had Hell in the palm of her manicured hand.

"Ah," she whispered, "Mourning your King? Well, imagine my delight when I had dealt with you and that buttoned-up Brit, to find that Metatron had discovered your little hideout."

Dean's heart dropped.

"He left Sam to me, but Castiel was no match. I imagine your new God is having trouble deciding whether to slit your angel's throat yet again and collect his stolen grace, or to rip out each feather of the forgery that is his wings."

"Cas," the moan of terror escaped his lips without his consent, and he never noticed, what with the fire of guilt and agony burning through the lining of his stomach. Or perhaps that was the cruel rope around his waist.

Abaddon suckled the tender lobe of his ear and stroked his sweaty hair. "And of course, Metatron read me the last instructions from his precious demon tablet."

"What instructions," Dean demanded, choking on grief.

"You take the bait so easily, lover. It's simple. I hold the key to the Cage."


	2. Chapter 2

_We will always end up here._

(Part 2)

Dean swallowed, his eyes welling up with tears at the unbearable burn below his Adam's apple. Fear plagued his heart when he felt a drop of blood slither down his searing wrist.

Abaddon stroked his chin. "Oh, poor baby. Is it the ropes, or wondering what I've done with Sam?"

His breath hitched and he looked up at her in rage, fighting his bonds despite the burn.

She smiled, and with a snap of her long fingers, Sam appeared before them.

He was kneeling, feet and hands tied tightly behind his quivering torso. The youngest Winchester screamed bloody murder into his gag, his muscled neck collared with a chain that led directly to Abaddon's hand.

Dean's heart raced as he searched desperately for the source of Sam's pain, until his eyes settled upon the raw and bloody patch at his brother's chest where the anti-possession tattoo had once been.

"Sammy," his voice was leaden and half-broken. "You're gonna be alright. We've seen worse. We've seen a whole lot worse, man, you hear me? Sammy!"

Sam's eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed face first, the ground digging into his wound.

"Sam!" The name barely escaped his lips before he felt the cloth bar his tongue. Gagged, he screeched like an animal, fully aware of the bindings drawing blood from his flesh.

Abaddon bent to kiss the convulsions at his throat as he writhed, stealing even anguish from him to mark as her own. "Hush, sweet baby. Let me make it all better."

With another snap of her fingers, Dean found himself kneeling, hands caught behind his back in steel gloves chained to the wall. However, he was free of the torture rope. Rivulets if blood spilled from his nasty burns, making movement of any kind painful, but at least now his wounds wouldn't be aggravated further.

Abaddon pulled the rag from his teeth and kissed just below his raw and cracking lips. "Look at you, tied and tressed. Those ringlets won't soon heal. Dean, what have you gotten yourself into, hmm?"

"What's wrong with Sam?" he asked immediately. "You ripped off his tattoo but that's not all, is it? IS IT?!"

She smiled as he rattled his chains lurching toward her like a mad dog. "That anxiety of yours is maddeningly hot.

"TELL ME!"

"Well, sweetheart, you didn't think I'd wait until now to let Lucifer out of his cage, did you?"

"What does that have to do with Sam?!"

Her smirk made him shiver. "Treacherous things, voices. Especially from past nightmares. Lucifer missed Sammy, Dean. He's had decades down there to imagine every possible mental torture for your brother, but the simplest…the return of a voice in his tender head…is the best."

The months Sam spent battling the Devil in his own mind hit Dean like an eighteen wheeler. The torture of a sleepless week. The idea; the simple idea that reality was a construct built to conceal his personal Hell. The fear of that torment had never left Sam. Lucifer could be reading the phone book or reciting the alphabet, but the voice itself would bring back a unique and unbearable terror.

He watched the labored breathing of his unconscious brother and wondered if dreams had even offered an escape.

"Bitch!" Dean screamed through his teeth.

Abaddon gripped his chin. "The mark burns, doesn't it? A deeper burn than the ropes left. But it isn't due to my presence, sadly.

Dean could feel it like a hot coal in his veins as he glared up at the last Knight.

"Then who? When I get my hands on—"

"Hello, Dean. It's been a long time."

The voice.

Dean looked up slowly into the tattered and peeling face of the temporary vessel, its eyes bright with sadistic flame.


	3. Chapter 3

Abaddon vanished.

"Dean. Just as I last saw you. Bloodied and helpless. Things never really change, do they?" The eyes were soft and questioning; the ultimate lie.

Dean grit his teeth, pulling at his bonds. "Change is overrated."

The devil smiled. "And you'd know, wouldn't you? You've done well, Dean. The CROATOAN virus? Eradicated. Castiel? An angel once more. And Sam, free of me."

The eldest Winchester's eyes were an endless pit of hatred for the nightmare he'd narrowly avoided. "Looks like you lost, Luci."

The grin deepened. "Not quite. You see, as promised, here we are. Together. And you are at my mercy, Dean."

"Ah, but you ain't wearing Sam to the prom, dick!"

The eyes flashed, and for an instant, Dean could have sworn they turned black. "Well, you see, Dean, I don't need dear brother's permission anymore."

All of the color drained from Dean's face.

"When I was in the cage with Sammy, I had, for the first time in eternity, flesh to handle. A human—an abomination of God's own design—to torment. With each blade in his tender body, each mark on his flayed soul, I felt my grace twist into ringlets of smoke. Hour by hour, the pain of blackening fed my torture. He was a soldier, honestly, to endure for so long. And by the time your sweet angel buddy dragged his body back to waking, the process was complete."

Dean swallowed. "You became a demon."

Lucifer laughed. "No, Dean, I became the devil the entire world has feared I was since the beginning of time. And now—" He snapped his fingers, and a perfect white suit appeared on Sam's unconscious body, tailored elegantly to his back, his long legs, his heaving chest. The silken tie about his neck seemed more a noose than a classic adornment.

"In case you don't remember how this story ends," Lucifer taunted from the frayed lips of his old vessel.

But Dean was thinking of another story. One that ended with a burn on another man's arm. The sacrifice and slaughter.

"Take me," he said, as the devil knelt by Sam's limp form.

The former angel looked up. "Naturally you'd do anything to save him, but I'm sorry Dean. You are not my true vessel."

"Michael took Adam for his vessel when he couldn't have me. I am Adam's brother. It's a double edged sword. Take me. Possess me, you son of a bitch!" Jaw tight, Dean looked up into the eyes of Hell.

He laughed. "And why would I take second best, hmm?" he gripped Sam's chin, "When I can have my blood-drunk little warrior? Er, big warrior."

"How do you know you won't destroy him?" Dean spat, "You're tainted now, and his blood is clean. But mine . . . mine is the blood of Cain."

Lucifer's eyes gleamed with interest. "Is that so?" he stood up and moved to Dean's side, where he pulled back the plaid sleeve to reveal the mark. "That kind of power _is_ tempting."

"Please," Dean pleaded, his voice dropping into desperation. "Sam's had his share of Hell. Let him go home."

"Ah, and haven't you had your share, as well?"

Dean thought of Kevin. Of Castiel under Metatron's blade. Of Bobby. Jo and Ellen. _My fault. For all of it_.

"Never."


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

_We will always end up here_.

The muffled groan of Sam Winchester interrupted Dean's thoughts. Lucifer caught him glancing away toward the body of his brother, still tied and chained (now to the floor) whilst wearing the elaborate suit.

Sam tried and failed to sit up, swearing incoherently into his gag.

"Why is he waking up?!" Dean demanded, fear spiking. Sam was never supposed to find out what he was going to do.

Lucifer shrugged. "I stopped singing Highway to Hell inside his head."

This whole time, the fevered sleep was Sam's body's way of protecting itself from Satan's onslaught. The thought made Dean cringe.

"Let's loosen his tongue a bit." The Devil's fingers snapped, and Dean watched the rag fall bloody and wet from Sam's mouth.

A sigh of relief emanated audibly from the youngest Winchester as he tried out his dry lips and tongue, hoping they'd form words.

"Bas—tard," Sam coughed, dotting the floor with blood. "Ge—t . . . get out—my—head!"

"Done and done," Lucifer announced, "You're a free man, Sam. There've been some changes."

Sam glared at him, and then he caught the guilt in Dean's face. "What—" A short cough sent a rivulet of blood down his chin. "—changes?"

Satan twisted his decaying fingers into Dean's hair and pulled his face near his own. "Body of proof, as it were."

Sam's eyes narrowed. He couldn't possibly mean body, as in _Dean's body_. "No . . . he's not . . . I'm your—"

"Sorry, Sam, word on the street is your too pure for me. Got all that demon blood out of your system. I can't risk another degenerate vessel. Forgive me."

Dean swallowed and looked down, unable to meet his brother's questioning eyes. The rotting flesh of Lucifer's face grazed his cheek, and he imagined his insides rotting as well, slowly, to match the defiled soul he would soon play host to.

"Dean," Sam's voice was broken, "_I'm_ the vessel. You can't—I can't let—" a fit of coughing cut him off.

Dean looked up into that bloody face framed with dirty hair and didn't see a grown man's jaw, brow, or scruff. Instead, he saw a four year old little boy that didn't yet know about demons. Believed that all angels were saviors. Whose definition of Hell was something _other_, and certainly not _within_.

"Sammy," he whispered, "You can go home now. Don't fight anymore. Whatever happens next, live out your last days happy. Please, Sam. It's over."

"I'm gonna need a yes, Dean. My options are still open," Lucifer threatened.

Their eyes met. Sacrifice and slaughter, about to become one.

Sam saw it coming and nearly strangled himself wrenching against the choke chain, his white suit splattered in his own blood. "NO!"

Dean swallowed. "Yes."

Lucifer's mouth opened and a thick smoke, _silver_, not black, spewed forth into the air. The tattered meat suit fell as the Devil himself raced toward Dean's lips and pried open his jaw.

The burn as Satan forced himself down Dean's throat was unbearable, and what's more, the weight of evil in it's purest sense settled so heavily on his ribs he was certain they would crack with the slightest movement. His organs screamed. His tendons and skin reached a fourth dimension of burning. He felt both eviscerated and, miraculously, sinfully whole.

In the back of his mind he whispered to the invading force, "One last thing, dick bag. I want a partition."

Serpent-like, the voice answered, "And why would I grant you that mercy?"

With every ounce of personal strength he had left, Dean replied, "Would you watch your own brother suffer at the hands of anyone but you?"

Images that were not his own flashed across Dean's memory. Michael young and weeping. Michael bloody in battle. Michael cowering in Hell. Pain tightened Dean's chest. Lucifer's pain.

"Fair enough. Goodbye, Dean."

And everything went black.

_To be continued._


	5. Chapter 5

**WARNING: one sentence of implied non-con**

Sam writhed on the ground at Lucifer's feet, screaming and begging until his throat grew so raw he could hardly make a sound. He looked up into the lifeless silver eyes that had replaced his brother's green ones, and considered strangling himself with the choke chain. Death would be preferable to this nightmare.

"Oh, Sammy," his brother's voice touched his ears and almost gave him hope. Then the head cocked to one side and a vicious smile touched those familiar lips. "What to do with you?"

Sam swallowed, fear making his heart pound warningly in his chest.

Satan knelt and gripped the chain at his neck. "I could torture you. Let Dean wash his hands in your blood. See how long you can hold out without begging dear brother to slit your miserable throat and end all of this for good."

"You're not my brother," Sam spat, moving uncomfortably in his chains. He'd endured so much torture in his life, but the idea of Dean's fingers wielding the scalpel made his stomach turn.

Lucifer smiled. "Or," he ran a possessive finger down Sam's jaw, "There is always violation, and in this body . . ."

The vein in Sam's chin jumped, as if trying to escape the hand. He would have gladly chosen torture over this new option.

"No. No none of that tonight. I have Heaven to see to." He snapped Dean's fingers, and Sam felt his wrists and ankles separate, the binds vanishing into thin air. Satan saw to the chain himself, loosening it gently from Sam's bruised neck and pulling it up over his head.

"Stand."

Sam's eyes narrowed, but he obeyed, getting to his shaky feet and never breaking his gaze with the new demon.

"Well, aren't you a sight." Sam didn't dare to look away from the molten eyes to glance at his body, clad in bloodstained white and raw from the restraints, a circular wound in his chest where Abaddon had sliced off his tattoo.

"You, too," Sam sneered. The body of his brother still retained the sanguinary burns about his throat, wrists, ankles and waist.

"I could so easily heal, Sam, but these wounds remind you of the burning I made you feel when I possessed you. They remind you that dear Dean is burning as well." Satan's grin was cruel.

Sam grit his teeth. "I'm begging you. Take me. I'm your true vessel. You'll rip him apart—"

"I'm so very sorry, Sam, but it is you who I would rip apart. I've learned about your cleansing. Painful, like whipping your own back to purge yourself of sin, but though it causes you anguish, you relish the feeling of being clean."

"Dean has always been—"

"What? A righteous man? Naturally. But you should have looked around up here some time. The thoughts, Sam. The deeds. The precious lies of a gut-ripping warrior. He's the one who deserves me, Sam. He's earned me."

Tears rimmed Sam's eyes. "No one deserves you. But I was granted to you by Heaven. Lucifer, take _me_!"

Another finger snap at the end of Dean's rough hand. Sam looked down and found himself dressed in his v-neck, plaid shirt and jeans.

"Go home, Sam. Accept my mercy. There's nothing more for you here."

Sam looked straight into the eyes of his brother, forcing his gaze to ignore the silver sheen and search out any last bit of the man that had once controlled them. "Dean," he said, desperately, softly, as if he could block out Lucifer and speak directly to the vessel. "You can't leave me here. I know you. It's torturing you to see me this way. Fight it. Take back control!"

The devil laughed. "Poor Sam. But it's not enough. When you stole your body back from me, you were watching your own hands beat him nearly to death on the hood of the car you both call home. Your misery is nothing compared to that. Not while your body is safe."

Sam's face fell, and he realized now why Lucifer hadn't torn into him like a raw steak.

"That's right, Sam," Satan cooed. "He has no power without your pain."

_To be continued._


End file.
